


Superheroes Don't Have To Pay Hospital Bills and It Isn't Fair

by PenelopeAbigail



Series: Whumptober 2020 [25]
Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Badly Written Fight Scene, Day 25, Gen, Hospitals, I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here Thanks, Ringing Ears, Stabbing, Whump, Whumptober 2020, blurred vision, disorientation, hurt!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeAbigail/pseuds/PenelopeAbigail
Summary: Spider-Man gets knocked around quite a bit by Shocker, so much so that he wakes in the hospital.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Series: Whumptober 2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955698
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Superheroes Don't Have To Pay Hospital Bills and It Isn't Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Day 25!!
> 
> I'm not well versed in fight scenes, but I hope this one isn't too bad.

It was Herman Shultz again— _I know, Shocker, right?_

He was attempting to rob the jewelry store on 5th while Pete had just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He’d taken MJ on a date to the steakhouse when, lo and behold, as soon as they stepped out onto the chilly street, he saw Herman making his way around the corner.

Pete just shook his head as MJ shoved him back towards the alleyway to quickly scale the building and change.

Herman hadn’t even known what hit him— _well, nothing hit him, per se, just Pete’s quips_.

Pete knew he couldn’t just randomly attack without cause—that’d be wrong and unfair. He needed Herman to react violently first, but he didn’t want it to come to that. Perhaps he could persuade him to stand down, stay peaceful, and _buy_ the jewelry he wanted.

That sounded like a good plan, and hopefully, with the right words, nobody would get hurt.

“Herman! Good to see you, buddy! Looking for something special for _someone_ special?”

Herman spun around and immediately fired a blast in Pete’s direction without looking. Pete was on the ceiling above him and sighed. Plan failed. Why couldn’t anything be peaceful and easy?

The glass windows of the storefront shattered. People screamed and ran about.

Herman looked all around, up and down, not catching sight of Spider-Man, posture on the offense, and dived through the window, too, taking off down the street.

_Come on, where was he going? Did he not want any jewelry? Did he not want to fight?_

“Aw, running away? Am I really that ugly?”

Pete dived after him, swinging faster than Herman could run, and crashing atop him, stopping him in his tracks. Pete expected the blasts from his arms and reacted accordingly, jumping up and webbing Herman’s legs down before going for the arms, but of course, his webbing was no match for the intense vibrations of that tech.

Pete _really_ wanted to tear it apart and figure out what made it tick, but he would never get the chance. The police had first dibs, and it was unfair.

What he wasn’t expecting was Shocker to turn toward a taxi nearby (picking up three people) and fire at them, too. That was a surprise, but Pete’s reflexes were quick as a cricket, and he webbed the car, not allowing it to topple or turn—and leaving himself open to be hit from the side.

Shocker full-body-slammed him into the ground, skidding and sending them further toward the building with a blast near Pete’s head.

 _Ow_ , for one. That was disorienting, but he’d taken Shocker’s blasts before. He could handle it.

And Shocker’s large, tech-suit-encased fist sped toward his face, probably going for the hit and hoping he was too out-of-it to block, but no such luck! Pete was fully aware of his surroundings and he caught the fist.

“Come on, Herman! Why are you doing this? You know there are always—“

But he didn’t want to listen, didn’t want Peter to finish his sentence, aimed his free fist toward some kids hiding behind another car and fired.

“ _No!_ ” Spider-Man exclaimed, releasing his hold on Herman’s fist to aim and shoot a web at the car, intending to hold it back as it took the hit.

He succeeded, but at the cost of exposing his vulnerability— _the vibrations actually traveled down the taught line and into Peter, but it was such a low dose by the time it reached him that it only warmed him up, which in and of itself was an odd feeling, but the air was cold, so it was much appreciated_

Herman’s tech recharged a lot faster this time around than in their last battle, and the whine before release told Pete that he was screwed because he couldn’t block this next hit.

Herman had it angled slightly, and Pete slid out from under him and slammed into the side of the building, cracking it with his shoulders and skull.

His head swam and he could see four different Shockers marching right at him, and he was pretty sure his nose was bleeding— _not from force of a hit, but from the vibrations of that suit_ —beneath his mask, but no one else needed to know that.

He stood up and engaged his blast webs, but Herman swung his arm around to aim at another car. This time, Pete couldn’t tell if there was anybody near it or not, and he really hoped everybody had the good sense to get out of the area by now and that there were no more people around to endanger, _but he didn’t know that for sure_.

Herman was aiming right at the Empire State Building, but Pete jumped in front of it, another yell of “ _No!_ ” let loose, and was blasted backward, toppling a _Handicap Parking Only_ sign and a newspaper bin, and slamming into the side of yet another building.

 _Ugh,_ that one stung a lot, but he’d had worse, so he didn’t dwell on it, just breathed through the pain in his ribs.

Shocker was winning this so far. Pete hadn’t been able to get any good hits in while Herman had several.

This new tactic of his was upsetting. Herman was the guilty type of criminal— _and by that, meaning he felt guilty for the crimes he does_ while _doing them_. He didn’t normally endanger people outright like this, so he must be under somebody’s thumb again. Why was he always being used? Why was he _allowing_ himself to be used?

Pete stood on legs shaking from the blast— _damn thing used vibrations, and vibrations made things vibrate, even his legs_ —and threw his arms up to block his face as another wave hit him, further burying him in the stone siding.

The good news was that the longer Shocker had between blasts, the stronger the blasts were because his fancy gauntlets needed to charge up, which meant that these short sporadic bursts were basically reduced to just strong wind blowing his way.

 _Strong_ wind. Knocked him back, but didn’t hurt and wasn’t all that hard to fight against.

And then a short, shrill scream came from their right, and both Shocker and Spider-Man startled, twisting to look—and Shocker stopped his bursts so Pete could actually see what was going on.

There was a small girl in hysterics, kneeling beside a motorcycle that had toppled atop a smaller child who appeared to be unconscious.

Peter forgot about everything, put Herman on the back burner in his mind, and dashed toward them. He couldn’t yank the bike off without throwing the little girl, and he didn’t wanna snatch her in fear that she might get hurt from the whipping motion.

Nevertheless, he slid in, reassured with “It’s okay, I gotcha,” and gently removed her, setting her to the side. The bike was easy to lift with his strength but he didn’t wanna hurt the little boy, so he removed it gingerly.

An older woman ran up and the girl startled away, not knowing this woman, but the lady just crouched down, spoke, “It’s okay, honey, let me help you away from here.”

Pete gently lifted the boy up and the woman took him from Pete’s arms, saying, “I’ve got them, Spider-Man, I’ll take care of them.”

He began backing away, still facing her, and expressed his gratitude, “People like you keep the world turning.”

His spider-sense warned him of Herman’s approach from behind, but it didn’t warn him of his proximity.

Pete spun around to come only inches away from Shocker who’d taken advantage of the time Spider-Man spent distracted. He had some piece of metal, stabbed through the Spider-Man suit with something thick and pointy, and the eyes on the suit widened in surprise. He then firmly stuck his remaining fist onto Pete’s chest.

Pete only had time to suck in a shallow breath of air before two blasts sent him flying, knocking the air from his lungs before he even impacted the side of the building again— _boy, the ESB was getting lots of love today._

It hurt. His back was definitely not okay, and that piece of metal— _that appeared to be from that handicap sign Pete had broken earlier—_ had lodged itself into the wall as well so that Pete didn’t crumble to the ground as his legs wanted him to do.

He wasn’t sure yet which vital organs were pierced if any, but there was definitely something damaged, something that burst with red-hot pain throughout his insides—and then his head has tossed to the side from Herman’s fist.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone? No one would have gotten hurt!”

Pete turned back to him, opened his mouth to retort but involuntarily coughed up a mouthful of blood instead, leaving a dribble down the side of his mouth. It wasn’t much, and from past experience, his super-healing would take care of the internal bleeding first, so he wasn’t in danger of dying immediately.

Herman let out a disgusted noise, unaccustomed to seeing blood like that, and Pete swallowed— _ew, gross—_ to clear his throat and say, “But Herman—I don’t want you to be alone, anymore. I want you to—“

But then Herman growled in frustration, slammed both hands on either side of Pete’s head, open palms cradling his ears, and Pete heard the whine of the gauntlets charging.

He struggled with his lungs to just _inhale_ after that hit and around the shrapnel, and thus, didn’t react fast enough before Shocker’s charges shook him apart— _figuratively speaking. Literally speaking was a different matter._

The shrapnel through his stomach had him thoroughly stuck in place as he reverberated from the vibrations. He could do naught to avoid it.

It rattled his eyes, his ears, his brain.

He heard nothing but a loud, unbearable whine, pitch escalating up and down like a crazy concert in his head. He saw nothing but a blur of smooth colors, like an abstract painting, swirling around him and dancing to and fro. His head was swimming, and for a sec he thought he was lying down, but then perhaps he was on the ceiling because he did that sometimes, and then he was moving and swimming and dancing.

Everything was disorienting, and he wasn’t sure what was happening anymore, only knew that Aunt May would be upset if he was late for dinner again, and Uncle Ben was waiting to finish up the model airplane Pete had gotten for his 7th birthday— _but no. That wasn’t right._ MJ was the one waiting for him and Harry had gotten him that model— _no, no, that wasn’t it either._

Did he have a date with Felicia? Was he late to school?

There was suddenly a sharp, burning pain in his abdomen, and he cried out, reaching for it and bumping into resistance.

The whining in his ears turned to ringing that changed radio stations constantly, up and down, left and right— _just pick a station and leave it alone, will ya?_

And then the pain hit again, but not the burning and stabbing pain in his tummy. No, the earthquake pain, the ripping-apart-his-brain-piece-by-piece pain.

He thought he would die from the amps on the whining, thought they’d burst his eardrums, and he’d bleed out. The swirling colors were changing so rapidly he thought he was going to be sick, and his head hurt like he’d been run over by another garbage truck.

He tried closing his eyes, but that made it worse because that swirly galaxy behind his eyelids took him on a roller-coaster of its own. Was he on the ceiling? Or was he on the floor? Was he really moving and dancing or was he shaking to bits against the wall?

Was he sick with pneumonia again, temp so crazy he was hallucinating? Or had Scorpion gotten ahold of him, poisoned him, and took him on a trip?

He was so hungry, so thirsty, and so emotional he wanted to cry but wasn’t sure if it was sad crying or happy crying, but either way, _something_ was definitely going on in his head.

The roller-coaster eventually came to a stop, and he distantly realized he was on his side vomiting up the contents of his dinner-date while someone was rubbing his back. His ears weren’t tuned correctly yet, and when he squinted open his eyes, everything was still chaotically out of focus and blurry.

His stomach ceased its upheaval, and he turned to lay on his back, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light. The calmness and stillness lasted only a few seconds before it was shattered by horrible and squelching pain in his stomach.

Someone was applying pressure to some already-existing wound down there, and he reached to make the pain stop. Hands intercepted, catching his arms and gently holding them still. He didn’t fight them, just grit his teeth and laid back stiffly, realizing that he was outside and on the dirty concrete.

There were two people helping him; the ringing in his ears was composed of two different radio stations, and he wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he figured that meant that two different people were talking.

As his vision steadied itself, he could make out the general blurred images of the people, but he had absolutely no idea who they were, just that they were trying to help. His spidey-sense told him that he was in no danger—and then a horrible wailing assaulted his delicate ears, high-pitched yet low-pitched, frequency all over the charts, and it _hurt._

He tried to swing his arms up to cover his ears, and the hands holding him still released them to do so, but the noise only got worse, as if something had added to it, something else was making an awful noise, and he grit his teeth to combat the pain, squeezing his eyes shut again.

The volume in his head increased, the pain escalated exponentially, and he was sure his teeth would crack from the force with which he clenched his jaw, but the pain was too demanding for him to care about anything else.

The roller-coaster started back up again, but he couldn’t take it this time and passed out instead.

~

He woke slowly to the steady beeping of an EKG, immediately thanking God that his ears were working again, and his brain had quit it with that awful roller-coaster of dizziness into space, or whatever that had been.

Cracking open his eyes showed his— _clear and not blurry, Hallelujah_ —bleak hospital room, surprisingly empty of other people.

What had happened?

Why was he in the hospital?

His suit was neatly folded on the chair beside his bed, and he was pretty sure that was a bad thing. People weren’t supposed to see Spider-Man’s face!

He jolted, sat up, and something pulled on his arm— _an IV_.

Oh man, he hated IVs.

His skin had already healed around it so he hadn’t felt it until now. Taking it out was going to be a pain in the ass, and while he _could_ get a nurse to remove it, he wanted to be gone before anybody saw his face or knew that he was awake and came running in with questions.

The window to the left was drawn with curtains but he could still tell that it was dark out, so he most likely wouldn’t be easily spotted if he crawled through it.

If he disconnected the pulse oximeter from his right index, he would have approximately 30 seconds to get out before nurses came running. He _could_ do it, wouldn’t be that difficult.

And he did, slipping out with ten seconds to spare and leaping to the roof.

There were no choppers, but press vans of all different news stations were parked in the lot, and he could see reporters coming and going to and from the building, probably searching for answers. Since his room had been devoid of other people, the hospital staff had been diligent to let nothing slip of where he was being kept, otherwise, there’d definitely have been people there when he’d woken.

What happened again?

Of course, there’d be stuff on the internet by now, but his phone was mysteriously gone, BlueTooth not connecting to his suit, and that was definitely not a good thing. He highly doubted anybody would be able to break into it and figure out his identity— _if they hadn’t already, I mean, come on, he’d been_ unmasked _in a_ hospital—but there was always the chance. He’d need to hit the kill switch on the data, so he needed access to the internet from somewhere very soon.

Sneaking past the reporters and into the city was easy peasy, and he was home in no time.

His phone was on his bed when he slipped in through the window, along with a note in MJ’s handwriting: _Couldn’t stop them from taking you but figured you wouldn’t want them to have this. Call me when you’re feeling better._

MJ had taken his phone? Awesome! He didn’t hafta get a new one!

But that meant that she’d been there, that she saw what happened before the ambulance arrived. He hated when she saw him trashed and thrown around, knew she hated seeing him hurt, too, but oh well. Can’t change the past.

_But he could figure out what it was!_

He switched into his PJs and cracked open his laptop, quickly searching _Spider-Man, Feb 14,_ and getting more than a few videos.

He didn’t have to play the videos to remember what happened and _oh yeah, Shocker knocked him around a good bit as he tried to get the civilians out of harm’s way_. _And he’d lost, pretty badly…_

He shook his head and opened one of the videos, skipping past the part where Shocker pinned him to the side of the building—he absently rubbed his completely healed stomach, remembering the pain—to the end, seeing MJ and another man kneeling over him— _was that—it was!_

That was Mayor Osborn, soaking his hands in blood as he attempted to staunch the flow from the wound. MJ was holding Pete’s hands back, and _good God,_ he couldn’t watch any more. He hated seeing himself on camera, and boy did he look messed up.

He was okay now though, and he remembered that MJ was expecting a call.

So he closed his laptop and set in on the floor beside his bed, sliding it under the desk so he wouldn’t step on it and snatching his phone as he dived on the bed to lay down. Sure, he might have rested up in the hospital, but that was _healing_ rest. He needed _sleep_ rest now.

The phone rang as he made himself comfortable and flicked off the lights.

Her voice was the only voice he wanted to hear as he fell asleep.


End file.
